


Five Times Hank Schrader Got Lucky (And One Time His Luck Ran Out)

by heyjupiter



Series: 5 Bad Things [5]
Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: 5 Times, Canon Compliant, F/M, Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-11
Updated: 2014-01-11
Packaged: 2018-01-08 07:05:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1129755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heyjupiter/pseuds/heyjupiter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Up all night to get Heisenberg.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Hank Schrader Got Lucky (And One Time His Luck Ran Out)

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to falafelfiction for beta-ing/midwifing this into existence.
> 
> I warned for major character death, but I didn't kill anybody Vince Gilligan didn't kill first.
> 
> These ficlets are mostly expansions of things that happened or were alluded to in canon and occasionally quote dialogue from particular episodes. Credit for those, and for the characters, and for all my emotional trauma, goes, of course, to Vince Gilligan & the other Breaking Bad writers.
> 
> 1) -  
> 2) The ["Wedding Day"](http://www.amctv.com/breaking-bad/videos/wedding-day) webisode (which, by the way, if you have not already seen it, I cannot recommend highly enough)  
> 3) 02x07  
> 4) -  
> 5) 05x08  
> *) 05x13 & 05x14

1) "Welcome back to Albuquerque, Agent Schrader. How'd you like Quantico?" asks ASAC Merkert. 

"It was really something," Hank says, loving the sound of 'Agent Schrader.' "But it's good to be home. I can't wait to get out in the field." He'd been excited about attending the DEA Training Academy in Virginia, and there had definitely been some cool shit there, but ultimately it had been a means to an end. He doesn't want to be in a classroom, even if the class is on wiretapping. He wants to be out there were the real action is. 

"That'll come in time. But I like your enthusiasm. Now, it seems all your new hire paperwork is in order--including your drug test, of course."

"Clean as a whistle," Hank says.

"You wouldn't be here if it weren't," Merkert says with a slight smile. "Well, I'll introduce you to your partner, and he'll help you get on your feet around the office. But if you have any concerns, just let me know. I'm here to support all of our agents."

"Thank you, sir, I appreciate that." And he does. Merkert seems like a guy Hank can work with, not like some of those hardass douchebags at Quantico.

Merkert leads Hank out of his office and stops in front of a desk occupied by a slim young Latino guy. 

"Agent Schrader, this is your partner, Agent Steven Gomez. Gomez, this is Hank Schrader. He's fresh out of Quantico, so you'll have to show him the ropes."

"Yes, sir," Gomez says. He extends a hand to Hank and says, "Nice to meet you."

"Yeah, you too," Hank says. Gomez has a nice, firm handshake. Merkert nods and retreats to his office, and Hank sits down across from Gomez's desk.

"Welcome to the Albuquerque office, Schrader. This is your first post?"

"Yeah. How about you?"

"Same. I've been here for a few years. It's not the most exciting post in the world, but it's home."

"So, what happened to your last partner?" 

Gomez grins. "Don't worry. He's fine. He just got transferred to El Paso, to work with the Tri-State Border Interdiction Task Force."

"Ah." 

"Down by the border is where the real action is, mostly. I mean, we do good work here too, don't get me wrong, but the huge busts? Those are mostly further south. But this is a fine office. Good place to cut your teeth, you know?"

"Yeah, absolutely," Hank says. It makes sense. With luck, he can get promoted out of Albuquerque before too long too.

"Anyway. You ready to see some ropes?"

"Hell yeah! I love ropes," Hank says, with a vague sense of innuendo in his tone. 

Gomez grins. "I bet you do," he says, and takes Hank around the office, explaining a bunch of pretty mundane stuff like making sure to label any food left in the lounge and how to requisition office supplies. 

Around noon, Gomez says, "Well, let's break for lunch. You like chicken?"

"Sure, who doesn't?"

"Alright, let's go to Pollos Hermanos. My treat."

"Pollos Hermanos? What, you got family working there?" Hank says. It slips out a split-second before he realizes that jokes that would have killed in his frat house might not work at the DEA. Especially not with his new Latino partner.

Gomez rolls his eyes good-naturedly. "Nah, they all work at McDonald's with your family, white boy." 

Hank's relief makes him laugh louder than the joke really merits. "You got me."

"It's good to have a partner with a sense of humor," Gomez says. "My last partner, he was a great agent and all, but… not a real fun guy."

"I think we're gonna get along just fine, Gomie."

* * *

 

2) Hank's standing in front of his future brother-in-law's house, trying to tell himself that it's for the best that his bachelor party ended at 10pm, that at least now he'll be well-rested for his wedding day, when Gomie says, "Hey, where do you think you're going?"

Hank shrugs. "Party's over, right?" 

Gomie rolls his eyes. "Look, no offense toward your future brother-in-law or anything, but I wouldn't exactly call what just happened a 'bachelor party.'" 

Hank sighs, thinking of the white zinfandel and low-stakes poker game Walt had put together for him. "I know, I can't believe I found a guy who's even lamer than you to be my best man."

"Hey, saved me the tuxedo rental. And to reward you for that, I'm taking you out for a real bachelor party."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, c'mon, I'll be your DD. The rest of the guys are waiting." 

Hank grins. "You're the best, Gomie."

He gets shotgun in Gomie's Wrangler to cheers from Artie, Chris, and Scott in the back. They have a few more drinks at Maggie Miley's, and Hank feels increasingly warm toward Gomie and the rest of their team. "You guys, you guys are so great. I love you guys. I mean not like I love Marie. I love Marie _so_ much. But you guys, you guys are like, my brothers."

"You're drunk, Hank," Gomie says with a little laugh.

"No. Maybe. A little. But I still love you, man," Hank says. 

"Yeah, yeah, I love you too," Gomie says. The bartender announces last call, and Hank says, "No way! What time is it? Oh my God, I'm getting married tomorrow."

"You're getting married _today_ ," Gomie says. "You want to head back?"

"The night is still young!" Scott says. "There are plenty of places that are open later."

"Yeah, we could go to the Ivory Swallow," Chris says.

"Aw, no," Gomie says.

"Yeah! I've never been there," Hank says. The other guys laugh, and Hank laughs too. 

Gomie shakes his head, and Hank says, "Lighten up, man."

"If you say so," Gomie replies. They get their last round at Maggie's and then Gomie takes them to the Ivory Swallow. 

"Wow, it's so fancy!" Hank says.

"Uh huh, real fancy," Gomie says. They get more drinks and watch the show. There are gorgeous women singing torch songs on stage. The guys announce that they're there for a bachelor party, and the rest of the audience cheers for Hank. One of the ladies dedicates a song to Hank, and another one sends him tequila shots from the bar.

"My last night as a free man!" Hank says. "God, these women are all so beautiful, can you guys believe it? Not as beautiful as Marie, but, damn." The guys laugh, but Hank's serious. He can't believe his luck when the woman on stage locks eyes with him as she sings "I Got It Bad (And That Ain't Good)."

"Give it up for the lovely Miss Joan Crawford," the announcer says as she walks off stage. "And now let's welcome Vivienne DuBois!"

And then Joan comes out into the audience, she comes right up to Hank and his friends. She towers over Hank, and she bats her eyelashes--she has crazy long eyelashes--right at him, and she takes him by the arm and starts leading him away. In his wake, he hears Gomie say, "Should we tell him?" but the other guys just laugh. Hank's so glad his friends are there to see this. Joan takes Hank backstage and he can't believe his luck.

* * *

3) After Tortuga's head explodes, Hank feels less panicked than he'd felt just from the sight of the severed head. Hank has training, he knows what to do for wound victims, knows how to check the scene for additional explosives or threats. Trained instinct can take over, and he can help his fellow agents. He can let their petty slights against him go and just try to stop them from bleeding out.

He has the sense that everyone is screaming at him but his ears are ringing. Anyway, he's pretty sure they're all asking for the same thing. He does a quick triage assessment and sees that Guzman is beyond help, so he takes off his belt and does a field tourniquet on Vanco's leg. Vanco's screaming subsides into babbling, and Hank takes in the carnage. He's not sure if anyone's called for backup, so he stands up and does so. 

They make Hank go to the hospital with everyone else, even though Hank's fine, he's totally fine. At the ER some pretty young nurse checks Hank's vitals. She asks, "Is your blood pressure normally on the high side?"

"Well, I just saw a dude's head explode on the back of a fuckin' turtle, so I imagine it's a little high right now. Wouldn't yours be?"

The nurse says, "Mmm. So your blood pressure is usually within normal range?"

"I don't know! Probably. I'm fine, though. I'm fine."

"Mmm-hmm. Well, after what you've gone through, it's perfectly normal to experience anxiety, possibly post-traumatic stress disorder." 

"What? I'm fine," Hank says, choking out a laugh. He's saved from further awkwardness by a knock on the door of their small exam room.

"Agent Schrader?" Ramey asks, and Hank says, "Yeah, come in."

Ramey says, "Schrader, thank God you're all right."

"Not a scratch on me, sir," Hank says. 

"Vanco said you were a real hero out there."

"I did what anyone would have done. Just got lucky, I guess," he says with a hollow laugh. _Lucky he was such a coward._

Ramey looks at the nurse and says, "He's cleared to leave?"

She nods. "Mr. Schrader, you'll want to take it easy. You've had quite a shock. And, as I was saying, you'll want to hear about mental health options--"

"Yeah, yeah, thanks." The last thing Hank needs is for Ramey to think he needs a head shrinker.

"Of course," Ramey says. "We'll schedule an appointment with HR to discuss options."

"No, honestly, I'm fine, sir. Thank you. I mean, this is what we signed up for, right?"

Ramey gives Hank a long look and says, "Well, we can discuss it further later. For now, why don't we get you back to El Paso?"

"Uh, yeah, sure. Thanks, uh," Hank says, realizing he doesn't know the nurse's name. 

"Flor," she says. "Take care, Mr. Schrader."

He nods at her and follows Ramey outside. He takes a deep breath of fresh air and then gets in Ramey's SUV. They cross the border uneventfully and return to the El Paso Intelligence Center, where Hank changes into clean DEA sweats and T-shirt and has a meeting with Ramey in his office.

"Tricia's booked you a flight back to Albuquerque," Ramey says, handing him a boarding pass. "You'll want some recovery time with your family."

"No, no, I'm fine, thank you, sir," Hank says. "I'm not due to go home until next weekend. I, I should get back out there, back on the case. I mean, who's to say there aren't more exploding turtles coming for us."

Ramey says, "Schrader, no one's saying you're not a great agent. But given the trauma you experienced today, and the… adjustment period, getting used to a new office… you're being reassigned to the Albuquerque office for the time being."

"Is this…"

Ramey holds up a hand. "This is _not_ a demotion of any kind. You'll still work with us here at EPIC, as needed. We value your skills, and the Albuquerque office will be lucky to have you back with them full time, for the time being. And I'm sure your wife won't complain about having you back."

"Yeah, sure, who wouldn't miss this face?" Hank asks, pointing vaguely at himself.

Ramey smiles. "Of course. Now, I'll make sure is ASAC Merkert is briefed about today's events. It's important to the DEA that all of our agents receive the physical and mental health care they need."

"Aw, no, what'd that nurse say? I'm fine," Hank says. "I was just getting an evidence bag, so I was lucky enough to miss the worst of the explosion. I got nothin' to complain about."

Ramey gives him a long look and says, "Well, good to hear it. I'll let you go get your things together--you've got a flight to catch. Take care, Agent Schrader."

"Will do," Hank says. He shakes Ramey's hands, grabs a few things from his desk, heads out to his car, and wonders how he can tell Marie what happened. He can't bear the thought of answering any questions from her right now.

Instead, he picks up the phone and asks Gomie to pick him up at the airport later that afternoon. He says everything's fine, thanks Gomie, and hangs up before his former partner can hear how hard he's breathing.

* * *

4) "Hon, can you put away the laptop? Dinner's getting cold," Marie says, like Hank really cares what temperature her low-fat veggie lasagna is. 

"Just a second, this auction is about to end."

"Auction? Oh god, are you buying more ro--minerals?"

"Maybe, if I'm lucky."

"Hank, have you looked around? The house is _full_ of minerals, and what do you even do with them?"

"Collecting minerals is an investment, Marie."

"Oh, what, like they're Beanie Babies or something?"

"Uh, no, not like Beanie Babies. Beanie Babies are pieces of shit with artificially inflated supply and demand. Minerals are natural wonders, and the rare ones are rare because not very many exist, not because some toy company decided to stop making them."

"All right, all right. So what natural wonder are you bidding on?"

Hank sighs. "It's a wulfenite cluster."

"Can I see it?" Marie asks. She sounds cautious, like Hank might say "no." He doesn't think he's been _that_ unreasonable. He just doesn't want to be bothered about every little thing.

"Sure," he says, turning the screen toward her.

"Oh," she says. "It's… brown."

"Well, yeah, but look at the way some of the tips are coated with botryoidal quartz. Really nice effect, right?"

"Oh. Okay, I can see that. So, how much is your bid?"

"Well, I put my max bid at $61.01, but right now it's at $45."

Marie raises her eyebrows, but says nothing about the price. Then she says, "Oh, look, it was found in New Mexico."

Hank nods. "Yeah, a lot of wulfenite is found in the southwest."

"So, we could just go outside and find some of this and sell it on the internet?"

"It's a little more complicated than than, Marie. It's not usally just laying on the ground. You have to have the right tools, and know where to look. And you need legs that work."

"Well. You will, Hank. You'll be walking in no time, and then you can go find your own _minerals_ instead of buying them on the internet."

"Uh huh," Hank says, watching the clock run down on the online auction. 

Marie says, "I always wondered who was out there buying all the shit Skyler sells on eBay. Now I know!"

"Skyler sells ceramic clowns, not minerals."

"Too bad. It would really save us on shipping and handling if you could just buy direct from her."

"Yes!" Hank says, fist-pumping at the message that he won the auction.

"Oh, great, now your collection will be complete," Marie says. "Hey, are there any amethysts you can bid on? You know, maybe set in a nice pair of earrings or something?"

Hank snorts. "Like you've ever had trouble finding jewelry you want."

Marie huffs and shuts his laptop. "A lady can never have too much jewelry, Hank. Now, do you want to go to the bathroom before dinner?"

* * *

5) If Hank were prone to talking about his feelings, he might want to give some kind of toast about how nice it is to just enjoy a meal with the whole family. The sun's shining, they've got a decent bottle of wine, and he's not afraid his sister-in-law is gonna try to drown herself in the pool. In fact, both Walt and Skyler seem relaxed and happy. It's almost like none of the unpleasantness of the past year actually happened.

But Hank definitely isn't prone to talking about his feelings, so instead he suggests brewing up a batch of SchraderBrau. Walt and Marie both sound excited about the prospect, and he says, "Who am I to fly in the face of public demand?" 

Even though he's walking fine now, he hasn't spent much time in the garage since the shooting. Instead he's been spending all his time on the Heisenberg case, and of course, his mineral collection. But now that he's said it aloud, he realizes he does miss making homebrew. There's an art to it, and despite the ribbing Gomie always gives him about it, he knows his beer is pretty good. If he starts brewing soon, he can have a batch ready by Marie's birthday, maybe find some purple bottles online. 

Happy with that thought, he excuses himself to take a shit. Marie doesn't cook much red meat, and those burgers Skyler had made are doing a number on him. He settles in on the throne and reaches back to check out the Whites' bathroom reading material. Hank himself favors the Uncle John's Bathroom Reader series--you can learn a lot from those. None of that here, though. Instead, there's _Leaves of Grass_ by Walt Whitman. Some kind of nature book, Hank assumes. 

He flips through it and sees no photos. It's poetry. What a boring bathroom book. He sighs and keeps flipping until he reaches the inside cover, where he sees the handwritten inscription. "To my other favorite W.W. It's an honour working with you. Fondly G.B." 

Hank would know that handwriting anywhere. He'd studied Gale Boetticher's lab notebook inside and out. He'd even joked with Walt about who W.W. could be. "Woodrow Wilson? Willy Wonka? Walter White?" At the time, Walt had seemed as absurd of a guess as a dead president or fictional candymaker. But now… there was no reason Walt would have this book, with that inscription, in that handwriting, unless… 

Hank hears a rushing sound in his ears, even though he hasn't flushed yet. He runs his finger over the inscription, trying desperately to come up with any other explanation. Nothing comes, though. He takes a deep breath to steady himself. He looks back down at the book. It's still there. The inscription is still there. 

Oh, Jesus.

It's completely impossible, except that… the more he thinks about it, the more red flags come up. Random memories assault Hank's mind. The "gambling" money. The missing time. The mysterious injuries. The way Heisenberg had known so much about Hank… and Marie. The way Skyler's been acting lately. The crazy purity of Blue Sky. 

All of it weirdly reconciles with the fact that his wussy chemistry teacher brother-in-law is New Mexico's most notorious drug lord. 

It's lucky Hank's already on the toilet, because he's pretty sure this revelation would have made him shit his pants. 

* * *

 

*) "Who the hell is this? Tribal police?" Hank asks. There's no way in hell he wants to share credit for this with anyone, local or tribal police. Bringing down Heisenberg was _his_ work. Well, his and Gomie's. He's eternally thankful to the bureaucrats who'd put them together--he couldn't have asked for a better partner. Gomie had even let him Mirandize Walt without even accepting his offer of a coin flip, knowing full well how much it would mean to Hank.

Handcuffing and reciting those familiar rights to Walt _had_ been incredibly satisfying. More satisfying still had been the few minutes Hank spent explaining his plan to Walt, rubbing his greedy face in the way he'd fallen right into their trap. He could understand why Bond villains did it.

Now, though, he's wishing he hadn't wasted that time, because he has a bad feeling these guys aren't tribal police.

"Police! Drop your weapons!" he yells at the scraggly rednecks who have begun piling out of their vehicles.

From inside the car, he can hear Walt yelling something. Had Walt set them up? Had Jesse known about this? One look at Jesse's face confirms that the kid had not known about it, or that he deserves a goddamn Oscar for this performance.

"We'll give ourselves up if you show us some badges!" one of them calls. Right, like Hank's gonna fall for that. 

He and Gomie keep their guns pointed on the rednecks, but it doesn't matter. They're outnumbered, and the men open fire. Adrenaline floods Hank's system. He ducks behind the SUV and returns fire as best he can. 

He hears Gomie scream, and Hank realizes he's screaming too. He hits the ground and feels blood and puts it together that he's been shot in the leg. It doesn't hurt now, but Hank knows the pain will come. If he lives through this, it will come. He shuts his mouth, pulls himself up to sit against the SUV, and puts a hand over the wound to slow the bleeding.

Hank's out of ammo, and the shots have stopped, so maybe they are too. If he's going to live through this, he'll need another weapon. He looks around for options. _Oh, fuck,_ he thinks, when he sees Gomie. But he'll mourn Gomie later--for now, his main focus is Gomie's shotgun, and Hank crawls toward it. He's lost blood, and it's hard work. He remembers scrambling for that last bullet in the mall parking lot. He'd survived that, against all odds. Maybe he has a guardian angel looking out for him, like Merkert had suggested. But then that grizzled motherfucker steps on Gomie's shotgun before Hank can get to it, and Hank knows his luck has run out.

The guy--Jack, Walt keeps calling him--has a fucking swastika tattooed on his neck. Hank listens to Walt pleading for Hank's life and tries to figure out what exactly is going on. Walt obviously knows these neo-Nazi motherfuckers, and seems to have arranged for them to be here. But he doesn't want them to kill Hank. 

"Hank, nothing can change what just happened, but you can walk out of here alive, if you just promise us that you'll let this go," Walt says. God, does Walt really think Hank would agree to just keep quiet? Why doesn't Walt see what's so obvious? Neither of them has any bargaining power right now. It looks like whatever relationship Walt once had with the neo-Nazis has is crumbling fast. Even though Walt has escaped arrest once again, the way Hank sees it, Walt might not leave here alive. Or Pinkman, either, which he feels a twinge of regret about.

As for himself, Hank now knows he's going to die. Getting into law enforcement, he'd always known this was an abstract possibility. Facing it now, he feels oddly clear-headed. He's glad he called Marie before this all went down. He hopes Walt's erstwhile friends won't have any reason to go after her. For her life, Hank would beg, but he doesn't want to give them any ideas.

"How 'bout it, Hank? Should I let you go?" Jack asks.

Hank ignores the pain that's blossoming in his thigh, summons up the memory of every John Wayne movie he's ever seen, and says, "My name is ASAC Schrader. And you can go fuck yourself."


End file.
